Incompatible
by Ciella
Summary: Geoffrey, Hershey, and Cocoa live together as a family after the Robotnik wars, and the young couple wants to conceive more than anything. But as it turns out, carrying a child to term is very challenging; not all mobians were made equally. An incompatible mother-child pair can be deadly.
1. Prologue

Just like any war, anywhere, any time, life was very different for us after the Robotnik wars. The village of Knothole was virtually abandoned after being firebombed throughout the war, causing the mass exodus to New Mobotropolis, where humans and mobians alike moved from all over to be protected by Nicole's cyber shield. Under her protective umbrella, we were all lucky in that we got a jumpstart on the post-war economy. With the last few months of fighting going on just outside the city walls, people were growing their own food, trading, making money, and having babies for the first time in years.

You may not know that New Mobotropolis was originally an enormous swath of land. Supposedly, Sally and Elias knew that we'd have to survive in the cyber bubble for an extended period of time, like a castle under siege. So to avoid strategic bottlenecks, they picked a site with a strong river and an underground spring, a few large tracts of fertile land, and a relatively flat area to chop up into industrial, residential, and commercial zones. New Mobo is pretty unusual in that the city is broken up into exclusive thirds- there are no retail businesses in residential areas, for instance, and there are no slums in the shipyard or near the slaughterhouses. Everybody lives in the residential district, and if you want to work or shop, you've got to leave the extended neighborhood.

For my family, post-war life meant that _everything_ was different. Geoffrey and I both were discharged honorably from the military, at which point we started looking for safer and better-paying work. He and my mom hit it off right away. She moved to New Mobo before our tour was up, so we stayed with her for a short time while looking for a bigger place that we could afford. But we enjoyed staying with her so much that when we finally found a place, we invited her to come live with us. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made; after my difficult teenage runaway years, my mom and I make great friends as adults, and Geoffrey was so happy to finally have a parent.

I found a great job at a home for teenage girls, many of them with histories just like mine. I'm not usually one to brag, but I had the best job in the world. I loved my girls, and they loved me. There were a lot of tough nuts to crack- these girls had their hearts broken so many times, after all- but I was a tough nut once, and finding that structure and support was all it took to help me reach my potential. The home was state-funded, so my salary was kind of low, but I was able to do it in part because my mom's job as an ER nurse helps pay the bills.

Geoffrey's post-war job actually started out as a joke. I'm sure you know that my husband is very vain; get him drunk enough and even he'll laugh about it. He likes for things to be "just so", including himself. He has to look perfect all the time or he gets very anxious. While he and I were arguing one time- money was getting tight- I accused him of being a narcissist. We exchanged a lot of harsh words, many of which I still regret, until he finally stormed out of the apartment to cool off for a few hours. As a kind of mean joke, I mailed some pictures of him to a modeling agency, imagining his confusion, and his deflated ego, when he got a rejection letter that he never applied for. But then a few weeks later, he was called back.

Of course, I then had to sheepishly explain myself. We went to his callback not expecting anything. We knew nothing about modeling. But his cockiness, obsessively maintained physique, and stark coloring did him well. His photographer told us that he was "the closest thing to a born model" she had ever seen. He was stupidly lucky, I guess. It took a few months before he started making any kind of good money- which isn't even a lot of time in that industry, not by a long shot- but when he did, he quickly overshot me.

My life was nearly complete. Once all of us had decent jobs, I approached my husband and my mom together and told them about how badly I wanted to be a mother. We stayed up late one Saturday night, my work phone plugged into the wall and on full volume in case one of my girls needed me, mom's phone on the coffee table in case the hospital needed her to come in. We talked about how much money we needed to save, who would stay home with the baby, whether or not I could bring him or her to work with me safely, and how everybody felt about it. Before the night was over, Mom was online, buying me preconception vitamins and offering to soundproof our bedroom.

That was almost three years ago. I'm twenty-seven, Mom's fifty-two, and Geoffrey's turning thirty in December. The city of New Mobo has reached a population of five million, and none of those people are my baby.


	2. Chapter 1

The three of us sat in the doctor's office, waiting for my name to be called. It made me feel better to have both of them by my side; it meant that one of them was always free to comfort me while one of them was always free to defend. Interestingly, my mom was usually the defender. When things went south, Geoffrey's first instinct was to hold me until I was ready to stand on my own again.

We liked this practice because it was an interesting joint set-up of a male pediatrician and a female midwife, allowing for continuous care from preconception through adolescence, with the possibility of knocking out two doctor's appointments in the same building. The pediatrician was a dour-looking older human with gray eyes, at least until he interacted with a child. At that moment, he was full of life, fluent in gurgles, babbling, and whatever it takes to make a baby laugh. He adored my mom, and my mom adored him. He didn't jive with Geoffrey for some reason; he frequently made my husband's hackles stand on end. The midwife was indifferent, cool and unflappable. Her presence was reassuring.

The receptionist called my name, and I entered Dr. Navorsky's examination room. Geoffrey and Mom took seats while the nurse practitioner took all my measurements. I had just seated myself on that awful, crinkly wax paper when Dr. Navorsky came in. She was a cat just like us, a Russian blue with a slightly puffy coat. She was a full-figured woman, her green eyes the color of a cucumber peel. "I'm so sorry, Hershey," was the first thing she said.

I looked down, my eyes filling with tears. From the corner of my eye I could see Geoffrey fidgeting, but Mom held him by the arm and insisted that he didn't interfere.

"Now, I don't want to add bad news on top of bad news, but having multiple miscarriages can be indicative of a much larger problem." She turned gracefully, her eyes settling upon my husband. "You should both consider genetic testing. It's hard to say whether the problem lies in the mother's or the father's system, or some combination of the two."

"I see," Geoffrey looked down much as I had, his voice falling. I was afraid that he would assume the blame. I didn't know what would be worse, our infertility being his fault or mine.

"I'm going to send some samples to the lab. While I examine Hershey, I want you to fill this."

When he saw the vial labeled "semen", his face burned. He snatched it and hurried away. My mom snickered before asking, "Honey, do you want me to leave?"

"No, please stay."

Dr. Navorsky did a physical exam as well as collected a number of samples for the lab. When my husband came back, his posture still overly rigid, he refused to meet anyone's eyes while he handed over the full vial. The midwife acted nonchalantly, as if she was receiving a cup of coffee or a letter. Then she addressed Geoffrey and I once again. "We'll find out in a couple of days if there's any kind of genetic issues or problems with gametes. In the mean time, I should tell you both that it might have something to do with a species incompatibility."

I cocked my head at her. "How? There are a bunch of mixed-breeds."

"Yeah," my husband shrugged. "I'm one of them."

"Did your mother have any problems carrying you?"

"Yeah…"

"What were they?"

Geoffrey hesitated. "I mean, I was born prematurely, and my mum died in childbirth."

"That may have been a species incompatibility between your parents. Who was the skunk?"

"My dad."

"And your mother?"

"A dingo."

"Were there any other children before you?"

"Yes."

"And what were they?"

"All… dingoes." This was the first I'd heard of Geoffrey's mother and siblings, and we'd been married for three years. Mom's mouth hung open.

Navorsky nodded to herself, then jotted down a note in doctor scratch. "So there might be a family history of incompatibility. Skunks aren't very common animals despite being native to North America- they might be very dominant."

"Meaning?"

"Think high school genetics; the brown-eyed allele overrides the blue-eyed allele, right? Well, a mother of a dominant species will almost never have incompatibility- she'll 'dominate' her baby, and everything will go according to plan. But in intermediate and recessive species, the mother can be 'dominated' by the baby if it's a more dominant species."

"I still don't understand."

"By that I mean, the baby will do it's best to be born early, and worst case scenario, its antibodies will attack the mother."

Now both my mom's and my husband's mouths and eyes were wide.

"Don't worry! We have drugs nowadays that will inhibit baby's antibodies. If everything comes back from the lab normal, we'll put Hershey on a drug called CoEstin, which will prevent Hershey's body from trying to protect her from the baby during early pregnancy, and prevent the baby from attacking Hershey during mid-to-late pregnancy."

We heard from Dr. Navorsky's office several days later; turns out I'd be on CoEstin for as long as we were trying through the day our baby was born. It became another preconception vitamin for me, another horse pill. I took it every day with breakfast. Within a month of trying, I was pregnant.


	3. Chapter 2

I didn't even mention my first missed period to anyone. I was too afraid to jinx it. Around a week later, my mom asked me about it, trying hard to act casual. She knew my rhythm, as it had been hers once. A week after that, Geoffrey caught on, and I didn't even notice until I realized that he never bothered to buy any chocolate that month.

After the miscarriages, I was too afraid even to tell our friends. So I invested myself heavily into my work until my first trimester was over, taking breaks to pee, drink water, and sometimes barf, as needed. My mom, ever a nurse, was my local prenatal vitamin police, and my all-purpose health coach and gross-pregnancy-things confidante. In retrospect, I can understand why Geoffrey tended to feel left out during those early weeks, because he often only heard these things secondhand. He made a routine of coming home from work, tidying up for a short time, and then holing himself away in the study, which would someday be the baby's room. He would read about a father's role in pregnancy and birth for hours, sometimes forgetting to emerge for dinner.

This stressful silence finally came to an end at our next visit to Dr. Navorsky. We watched with bated breath as her technician readied the ultrasound. They poured the awful, cold blue goo on my abdomen, and put the device to my belly with loud static. Then we heard a sound like a distant horse galloping. It wasn't the "lub-dub" of an adult human heartbeat, it was the "one-two-three-and" of a waltz on double time. Our baby had a heartbeat. "About 170 beats per minute," Navorsky smiled serenely. "Perfectly normal."

On the monitor, like a PC from twenty years ago, was a fuzzy, snowy image of a dark place with a little gray bean. The little gray bean had a tiny dark heart, pumping away. It had tiny limbs that were indistinguishable yet, including the beginning of a tail. It had little dark eyes under the skin. It was the most beautiful little sea monkey I had ever seen. Geoffrey squeezed my hand and repeatedly wiped his eyes. So many times, we'd come in to see this, and instead we saw a sad little husk. We were so relieved, and so proud of this tiny little creature for making it this far.

Mobian medicine advanced rapidly after the war, especially in obstetrics and women's health, given the baby boom that immediately followed. Instead of needing to wait until mid-pregnancy to learn anything about the baby, we were able to find out at just three months. Navorsky unfolded a letter that had been neatly pressed into thirds. "Would you like to know the sex?"

Geoffrey and I looked at each other. My mom jumped in her seat and shouted, "Yes!" We laughed. "Sure, why not?"

"Congratulations: It's a girl."

I've never seen Geoffrey jump for joy in my life. He grabbed my cheeks and kissed me several times, then grabbed Mom and hugged her tight.

"As far as the species goes, I have to tell you, because it's related to whether or not you continue taking CoEstin, and therefore whether or not you're exposed to the risks."

"Ok."

"Well, you're expecting a kit!" It took us all a moment to realize that a kit was a skunk. We were too happy to care. Well, Mom was a little disappointed; she had wanted a kitten grand-baby. But who was she kidding? She was going to spoil it rotten anyway. "Now, for the less fun stuff. You need to be careful while taking CoEstin. It's a powerful inhibitory. So if you feel the baby moving less frequently for a few hours, I want you to call me. Also, if you're still working, you should talk to your employer about taking early leave. This condition is very serious, and adding stress can cause the pregnancy to self-abort, possibly even posing serious risk to your health."

I chewed on my cheek, not acknowledging what she'd said right away. Geoffrey especially had been worried about me working while I was pregnant, and I hated admitting that he was right. "How many hours a week can I work, then?"

"I think you should take maternity leave as early as possible, or otherwise, take sick leave. I'll get you whatever documentation you need. If you must work, keep it part-time."

I could see Geoffrey's brow lowering from the corner of my eye. I really didn't want to be home all day. That's just not who I am. I'm a mover and a shaker, an active woman who thrives on a busy schedule. The baby's heartbeat spiked briefly even as I thought about it.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, his tone rather harsh, as we left for home. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Mom stepped up to the plate for me. "Don't add to her stress right now. She's got a lot to think about." She turned to me, as we walked arm-in-arm. "I say we go shopping for some maternity clothes. What do you think!"

I smiled politely. "Mom, I'm not really interested. I'll probably get it all online anyway."

"C'mon. It'll be fun- we'll get cute baby furniture, some fashionable maternity gear- it's come a long way since I had you, y'know!"

Geoffrey had been third-wheeled by a narrow sidewalk. "Actually, Mum, we were going to have the baby sleeping with us. All we need is a little co-sleeper."

"What about a rocking chair to nurse in?"

"I was going to have one special-ordered; I have a particular make and model in mind."

"Fine," Mom pouted, like a kid. "Then at least let me get some cute grandma-themed stuff!"

"Sure, Mum," he laughed, as the doorman let us in to our building. "And get something for me too, if you see something."

"Just come with me, I don't know what you like."

"I'm invited? I thought this was a mother-daughter thing."

"Says who! I'd say it's more of a family affair."

He was always so happy to be included. Mom unlocked the door to our apartment after three flights of stairs. "Count me in then. You sure you don't want to come, love?"

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna take a bath and rest for a bit. Maybe then I'll call some of the girls and spread the news."

Mom put her purse on the counter and searched the drawers in search of coupons. My husband closed the gap between us, his hands on my hips. He kissed my forehead softly and we stood nose-to-nose for a minute. "Ok. Can I say goodbye... to my daughter?" He asked me, his voice cracking briefly.

"Of course."

He knelt down until he was eye-level with my navel, and kissed the tiny amount of belly that was just beginning to protrude. "We love you, little girl," he told her, patting me softly, as if she could feel it. "Be good. We'll be back soon."

She was too small for it to be felt from the outside, but when her father spoke to her, I felt her swimming.


	4. Chapter 3

Geoffrey helped me wean myself off of work when he was between shoots. His work was rather different from a nine to five, in that he had to work out everyday and watch every little thing that he ate, but his work came in clusters of work and time off. Sometimes I hardly saw him for several weeks, especially if they were shooting far away. Then he'd be home for about a week or two before another series would begin.

Working part-time meant that I went from working over eight hours a day to a mere four. During his weeks home, Geoffrey would often clean the apartment and get his workout done while I was gone, and then treat me to something when I returned. It could be a special bath, a foot rub, a baked good, or sex. (The last was my favorite. Nothing like being married to a male model to make a pregnant lady overheat.) But these little surprises gradually taught me to look forward to getting home, even when he was gone for a couple weeks. I started to read voraciously, coloring in those ridiculous but addictive adult coloring books, and writing narratives like this one. I got very comfortable being home, although I still found it hard to sit still for too long, especially when my belly popped.

The baby was very active through her fourth month. I had just enough belly to be visibly pregnant, and I would often rock it side to side over my hips or rub it from the outside in the hopes of getting her to calm down a little. She started keeping me up at night, as if to say, "Hey Mom, did you know Daddy's here? Did you know I can do a flip? Look!" And she would twirl around in there, twenty thousand leagues under the sea, for hours, falling asleep around daybreak. My friends wanted us to name her "Gabby", after Gabrielle Douglas, the olympic gymnast.

Then in the fifth month, she really started to slow down, probably because she was growing like a weed. Almost overnight, I was huffing and puffing just walking to work. My belly went from "just visible" to "WHEN ARE YOU DUE" like that. My Mom and Geoffrey took every excuse to pat my belly in hopes of feeling her jump, but of course, now that she was big enough to feel, she decided that she didn't feel like entertaining. Until I wanted to sleep, of course.

It was around this time that I woke up in labor. It was eight in the morning. My mom had just started a dayshift, and Geoffrey was on the west coast for another week. I couldn't think straight. I felt my belly without thinking, and it was hard as a rock as my uterus contracted. I panicked and called an ambulance.

I don't know if I wasn't that far into labor yet or maybe my labor just wasn't that painful, but I didn't feel the need to scream or carry on much. I arrived at the hospital alone, holding my belly like my life depended on it, breathing as calmly as I could through the contractions. They asked if I wanted to call anyone while they waited for the midwife to arrive, but I didn't want to worry them; neither of them could reach me anyway.

Somehow, or rather with the help of an incredible drug, Dr. Navorsky was able to stop my labor from progressing. "Are you still working?" She asked me in a flat tone, just as my contractions faded into calm. The baby did a somersault, making the dome of my belly bounce.

"Um, part-time. Only twelve hours a week now." My voice trailed away. My midwife's voice grew softer.

"You _must_ stop. If you want your baby to make it to term, you've got to take it easy."

I looked down, my navel distended, my little girl dancing to her heart's content. So active. So exhausting. Definitely our daughter.

"I'm putting you on bedrest until she arrives."

"What!"

"That's your best chance of carrying her to term."

I thought that maybe she was just trying to scare me, but then she played the trump card: she called my husband while he was at work and told him what had happened. I knew that he'd be furious when he returned, not to mentioned worried out of his mind. She was smart. She knew that I'd follow her instructions if it meant that everything would be right as rain by the time Geoffrey got home.

The hospital only released me the next day because they knew that Navorsky was monitoring me like a hawk, a hawk with an excellent minion- my mother, the nurse. Mom picked me up the next morning, alternately wanting to hug me and kiss me and pat the baby, and wanting to shake her fist at me and scream. She switched back and forth for about twenty minutes. Then she was fine. It didn't affect her driving, so I just sat back and tried to remember how to relax.

Mom, if you're reading this, I love you. I'm sorry I caused you so much angst as a teen, running away from home, doing drugs, having sex that often hurt me to benefit someone else. And thank you so much for taking me back when I was good and ready to admit that I was wrong. Thank you for taking Geoffrey in and loving him as your own son. And back to what I was saying, thank you for being there for me while I was pregnant.

If that gives you any indication, Mom took what could have been a harrowing week of worrying what my husband was going to do when he got home, and turned it all around. She took paid time off for a family emergency and stayed with me all week, watching movies with me, running baths, cooking dinner, and playing cards together. To take the edge off of Geoffrey's incoming speedball of worry and frustration, she had gotten him a present.

Geoffrey arrived in New Mobo International at four in the morning, and I heard him already in the apartment as I woke, around six. The baby jumped- "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" -as if on a spring mattress. I could hear him talking with my mom in a tone that he never used with her; it was more reminiscent of his time in the military, being rather harsh and condescending. He respected Mom a lot, not only as an older woman, but also as his own mother. I was shocked to hear him carrying on like this. But I think Mom understand that these were unusual circumstances. I heard her voice as it used to sound when I was a preteen: soothing, not merely because she wanted him to calm down, but because everything truly was and was truly going to be alright.

After a minute or two, I heard him sigh, tell her that she was right, and that he was sorry. There was a pause. I assume they hugged it out. Then Mom told him that there was coffee in the pot for him, and that she had a surprise for him, if he'd just wake me first. He surprised me yet again when he told her matter-of-factly that I was already awake and listening. His damningly good little ears must have heard me turn on the mattress to hear them. But he came in anyway, running his warm hands down my body, his left hand tracing his daughter, his right hand tracing the exaggerated curve of his pregnant wife's back. He kissed me, touched noses with me, and asked me to join them.

You might or might not know that getting up from your side while pregnant is kind of a lot of work. You have to scoot to the end of the bed, sit up by pushing yourself with your arms, and then you can stand- slowly. Geoffrey held my robe for me, and we shared one more kiss that we'd rather have without Mom around. Then we joined her in the living room, where she was waiting like some kind of early morning homecoming goddess, with a little tray of coffee, cups, and fixings, as well as a little box wrapped in green, his favorite color.

"Thanks, Mum," he chuckled, tossing the box from hand to hand as he guessed what was inside. "But why?"

"You told me to get you something if it made me think of you."

Geoffrey is the kind of infuriating person who unwraps everything as if they intended to reuse all of the decorations. He carefully untied the white ribbon, peeled the tape off without ripping the paper, and unfolded the paper from the box so easily that it was like watching someone wrap the present but in reverse, like a film. He set all the decorations neatly aside and turned the box around a number of times, trying to figure out what was inside before he opened it. It clunked unevenly and he seemed perplexed and delighted by that. I looked at my mom, grinning mischievously. I mirrored the expression as soon as I saw it.

At last, he opened it. Inside the square-foot box was a rectangular 10'x8' box, along with a paperweight and a roll of pennies. Geoffrey laughed, and fortunately, he just opened the smaller box without repeating his routine. Inside the box was a folded long-sleeve shirt, reading, "Lucky men are blessed with daughters like mine." He was positively giddy, putting the shirt on right away over what he was wearing and admiring it on himself.

"Look underneath the tissue paper. There's more," Mom told him.

He looked to her and then to me, looking for a hint. I knew about as much as he did. He crinkled the tissue paper back by one corner to discovering a matching snap-up for the baby, reading "Lucky girls are blessed with fathers like mine."

My 210-pound husband bear-hugged my tiny, middle-aged mother, engulfing her like a catcher's mitt around a baseball, and cried happy tears.


	5. Chapter 4

The first time I had a Braxton-Hicks contraction, I scared the living shit out of Geoffrey. He was napping after a particularly rough workout when this painless but powerful contraction worked from my pelvic bone up to my diaphragm. Apparently, although I don't remember this, I had shouted, "Oh my god!" as I leaned against the wall. He came running, and when he asked me what happened, I said, "Oh, I think I just had a contraction." Not a big deal; BH contractions aren't labor contractions, they're just the uterus exercising itself to prepare for birth. But I didn't make that clear. So Geoffrey ran back into our room to start throwing things into the hospital bag, and couldn't understand why I wasn't in more of a hurry.

The sixth month of pregnancy was weird, to say the least. I know that biological incompatibility was no more the baby's choice than it was mine, but sometimes I really felt like I was pregnant with some kind of demon. It was like I was in the first trimester all over again. I was constantly vomiting, and at one point I couldn't drink anything but hot tea. Mom and Geoffrey took turns staying up with me when I was sick, which often spanned days. I had this deep pain that I just know was not a normal pregnancy thing; it emanated from all of my muscles. I felt this burning, spasming pain that made it torturous to move. I was so grateful that Dr. Navorsky had convinced me to stop working, or I don't know what I would have done.

We tried everything we could think of: hot stone therapy, various kinds of prenatal massage, acupuncture, and of course, several powerful pharmaceutical drugs. But none of it was very helpful. If I felt well enough, sex was reasonably good at taking the edge off my pain, but I rarely felt like it. Many days I just stayed in bed, curled up in a ball, either sleeping, vomiting, or crying.

At one point, Geoffrey was taking care of me, trying to get my to drink a little tea. But I was so weak and so tired that when the pain finally subsided, there wasn't anything I wanted as much as rest. "Please, love," he begged me. "Try to drink something."

He put the tea on a nightstand beside me and snuggled up next to me. We were quiet for a long time this way, unmoving except for the baby. "I don't know if I can do this."

"The pain?"

I nodded, my tears hot as they slipped through my closed eyes.

"Honey, listen to me." Geoffrey took my hands and waited until I met his eyes. He told me, unblinking, "I love you, and I hate what this is doing to you. I know this isn't what you wanted."

He was trying so hard to keep his voice from breaking. I sniffled, watching his eyes gloss over.

"I'm really scared that this baby's going to destroy you."

"Me, too."

He gulped, looking away briefly before finding my eyes again. "I think it'd be safer for you if we terminated the pregnancy."

I didn't know what to feel. I loved the baby already, and I knew that he loved her, too. I knew he was especially excited to father a little girl. But part of me, the part that was tired of suffering, really hated the cause of my pain and illness, even if that was our child. And I was scared- I'd never been so sick in my entire life.

"I know you probably think I'm evil, but I'm so worried, sweetheart," He told me, reaching for my cheek. There was a stray tear lingering on his. "If you never want to have another pregnancy, I'll understand. And if you do, we'll find a way to make sure it's a kitten. Ok? Please, I hate myself for putting you through this."

He was holding himself together frightfully well, at least until I fell into his arms. We held each other for a long time, just telling each other that we loved each other, and telling the baby that we loved her too, no matter what happened. It broke my heart to watch him take my belly in his hands and kiss her, telling her that she didn't get to choose what she was anymore than anyone else, and that he was sorry, so sorry. It broke my heart because I know he blamed himself.

Dr. Navorsky was nice enough to come to the apartment to speak with us. Mom let her in, and Geoffrey set up a meeting space in the bedroom so I wouldn't have to move. There were two chairs, one for Mom and one for the midwife, and Geoffrey sat beside me on our bed. "Thank you for being willing to make a house call," my husband said. "She really couldn't travel to your office right now."

"I can see that. Has she been in this condition for a long time?"

"A few weeks now. Lots of vomiting, pain all over. Poor thing's been utterly miserable. We don't know what to do, and I'm really worried about her. We're considering terminating the pregnancy, and we wanted to hear your professional opinion."

"On what aspect, exactly?"

"Well," I spoke up as well as I could. It was very challenging. "Nothing eases my symptoms. I've never felt so terrible in my life, and I just want it to end. But we love the baby, and we really want to have her in our lives. Am I likely to die carrying this baby?"

"You're at the time of highest risk right now. In fact, incompatible mother-child pairs are at peak risk where the sixth month becomes the seventh. But you're not unsafe. I'll take a sample of blood to make sure there's nothing funny going on with the CoEstin, and if everything is fine, I'm going to increase your dose slightly. The discomfort you're feeling is a result of the baby's antibodies getting about as high in number as they've ever been. In about a week, she'll be sending more antibodies across the umbilical cord and into your blood than ever again."

"So you mean, it's going to get worse?" I got a little hysterical, unable to comprehend this pregnancy getting any worse. "No! No! I won't do it! I can't take it!"

Geoffrey tried to hold me and calm me down, but I flailed and nearly hit him in the face.

"Hershey, please," the midwife called me sternly, "this is important. You've got one more week of what you've gone through. You've survived three or four weeks of this. If you can do one more, you're going to get through your pregnancy just fine, and you'll have a beautiful baby girl at the end of it."

I was still bawling, but I finally allowed Geoffrey to pull me against him. So we continued on with the pregnancy and hoped for the best.


	6. Chapter 5

The next week was hell, but not noticeably worse than the weeks that came immediately before. But I had picked my midwife well. After that week passed, I got hungry for the first time in a month. I started eating like a lady in the third trimester of pregnancy should- a little every few hours, about 500 calories more per day than I normally ate before I was pregnant. Geoffrey was so relieved. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see you eat," he told me after a few days.

"I don't think I've ever appreciated food this much."

I had a serious pregnant belly at this point, and he just couldn't seem to keep his hands off me. My breasts had always been kind of small, but they had almost doubled in size, and oh my god, my nipples. They were like that little rubber nipple you use in a baby bottle, but brown, and with a much larger areola. They really did stick out that far! And he loved them. I would catch him looking at them and their impressions in my shirt, and he would look away for a while, often flushed, eventually excusing himself. The pregnant libido finally caught up to me around this time, and we often snuck away together, as if my mom didn't know what was going on.

The third trimester was a very happy one for us. Even though my feet were swollen and I waddled a lot, I had more energy than at any other point in my pregnancy. We were in the clear now; I could finally afford to be excited. My mom and I had a lot of fun picking out a co-sleeping crib and maternity clothes, and then we planned a baby shower.

We broke the tradition of having an exclusively female party, because none of us thought that'd be enjoyable for anyone. We asked people to get stuff in all the colors, not just pink, or the old "pink because it's a girl" problem. And most people respected that wish. We rented out a party room at one of our favorite restaurants with a fabulous wine menu to spare our apartment. Of course, what does Sally say but, "Are you… really going to drink wine, after _this_ pregnancy?"

I don't know if it was just pregnancy hormones, but I wanted to slap her in the face and ask her if she was really going to ask stupid questions after this pregnancy. But Geoffrey had a much better rapport with her, and quietly but matter-of-factly told her, "Why not? One glass of wine isn't going to hurt the baby."

Antoine chimed in, cutting into a beautiful, medium-rare beef medallion. "It's common practice in Europe, and there aren't many more babies born with fetal alcohol there."

"Besides, it's what kept me sane while I was pregnant with Marc!" Bunnie laughed. "Oh, I looked forward to it everyday when I was really feeling bad. For me, it was always Pinot Grigio."

But I was delighted to hear Sonic ask my husband, "So, you excited to be a dad soon?"

"Oh god, yes," he answered, not even looking up. "I know I'm not gonna get everything right, but I'm just so excited to have the opportunity."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't think I'd live this long, not with the way the war was going for a while. And even if I survived it, I never thought I'd find someone like Hershey, never mind that she'd eventually marry me and agree to have my kid!"

Something about the way he said it made me blush. I told him, "I'm just so glad I'm expecting with you. It hasn't been fun, but it would've been impossible without you."

Pleasantly embarrassed, he changed the subject. "Why don't we open some of the gifts when everybody's done?"

"Fine by me."

"Anybody wanna go first?"

We're truly lucky in that we have very generous friends. Antoine and Bunnie got me beautiful breastfeeding accessories that no one else could have afforded, including a double pump and a full set of glass bottles. Mina, with the mind of a single woman, got us a smart, sleek bag that could expand like crazy, and a changing mat. It'd be phenomenal for a household full of people who can't sit still. Sally got us a beautiful wrap that we could adjust, which was something that I really wanted, but Sonic decided to get his own gift: her first pair of shoes. They were little red sneakers, just like the ones he always used to wear. I felt like that gift brought Sonic and my husband closer together than anything else.

But my favorite gifts came from the people who'd been there all along. My Mom gave me an album, not just a "baby's first"- the album extended all the way to age 18. But what was so ridiculously cool about it was that for every page with baby doing something, there was a page of me at the same age doing that thing. My Mom unveiled my baby pictures for all to see, including my tiny, naked tush, in all its glory. She said that it'd be harder to see the similarities because the baby would be a skunk, but side-by-side, mother and daughter would always be alike. We both hugged and cried a lot.

And in the background, I noticed Geoffrey talking to a pair of staff members, in the standard all-black uniform of food service. The two young men nodded and disappeared, my husband turning to me with a wink. "It's a bit unwieldy," he told us all, "so I asked them to hold it in the broom closet until we were ready."

As the young men came back, the whole table sighed out loud. They carried a rocking chair about a meter and a half tall. It's back fanned out and arched back faintly, gracefully offering support as well as room for a pillow. The arms were rounded as they descended, and sanded so finely as to give the impression of being soft, despite being made of American cherry wood. The coloring was magnificent, a decadent dark red grain that could never be achieved with stain and polyurethane.

"I was so worried it wasn't going to arrive on time. I ordered it when we knew for sure that she was going to make it past the first trimester, but it only arrived a few days ago!"

I loved it, and I hoped he could see that. I got up to explore it closer, grateful that I had worn something as comfortable as a maternity dress. There was a theme carved into the lovely red grain, if you looked closely: one of mothers nursing and taking their child by the hand, progressing through life with them. The legs of the rocker were sturdier and less stylized than other aspects of the chair, but even they had little cherubs carved into them, the babies we had lost, but not forgotten.

"I was going to ask them to carve her name into it, but then I decided against it."

"That reminds me, do you have a name picked out?" Antoine asked.

My husband was tentative. We hadn't spoken much about names, because there was really only one that we wanted. "Would you rather announce that, love?"

"How did you know?" I smiled as I carefully lowered myself onto the rocking chair for the first time. Just a few rocks back and forth, and the baby was noticeably calmer. I felt at peace there, and I couldn't wait to nurse her in it soon. "When we realized that she was going to make it, we decided on Evangeline, our 'good news'."

Bunnie got all teary-eyed. "Well, nobody asked me, but I love it!"

"We figured she'd be 'Eva' in her everyday life."

Geoffrey nodded. "We wanted a name that had a natural nickname to it. Because realistically, when she goes to school, it doesn't matter how lovely her full name is, she's going to be nicknamed." He smiled at me dreamily from where he sat at the table. "Do you like it?"

"I love it. It's perfect."

He beamed. "I'm so glad. I looked everywhere for a place that would make it right. You know there's not a single nail in that whole thing? It's all old-school carpentry."

"You spent way more on this than we agreed on, didn't you?"

My husband snickered. "Yes, but let's be honest: isn't it worth it?"

"I love you, tricky bastard."


	7. Chapter 6

The last few months of my pregnancy flew by, a cakewalk compared to the first two-thirds. I went into labor two weeks before Geoffrey's birthday, in early December, during a power outage due to snowfall. But it didn't matter. Mom lit candles and brought flashlights for the midwife. Geoffrey and I spent most of my labor slow-dancing, as funny as that sounds, rocking back and forth smoothly to wiggle our baby down. It was almost midnight when I felt the urge to push. My husband held my hands as I squatted, supporting me from behind, the midwife in front of me, coaching me so the baby didn't come too fast and tear me.

Even though it burned terribly, I pushed as I squatted down, and the baby dropped, her head beneath my pelvic bone. The midwife took my hands as she instructed my husband on how to catch the baby, as she was going to emerge any second. Only then did my bag of waters break with a gush. Our baby's surged out like a little surfer on the tide, born in the Superman pose, her hands over her head. My mom helped me back so that I was semi-sitting, dazed, pregnant belly suddenly deflated, a little gray porker in my husband's paralyzed hands. He was rapt. She was gray and squirming, the pulsating cord still attaching her to my body.

The midwife came over with one of those little manual suckers, removing mucus from her nose and mouth. As soon as she took her first breath, she started crying heartily, and although she was covered in blood and amniotic fluid, my husband immediately brought her next to his heart and cuddled her. The midwife took a clean cloth and wiped the baby down, slathering petroleum jelly on her bottom and slapping on a diaper before the sticky, tarry meconium came out. She cried and cried, quickly turning pink, and she was transferred to me to get warm and nurse.

She latched on without much help from us. My mom and my husband held each other, grinning and crying at the same time. The midwife continued to make little measurements and instructing me on how I fed her, and then asked me for her name. Evangeline. Our little Evangeline. Born five minutes to midnight at a whopping nine pounds. The midwife took care of the placenta when it arrived, stuffing it in a biohazard container that she would dispose of properly. My mom proudly cut her granddaughter's cord.

When the midwife left, we had hardly moved, awe-struck by the tiny life that suckled contentedly. Geoffrey held out his pinky, and she gripped it in her tiny fist. You could easily tell that she was a skunk, her skin already patterned in black and white. She had no fur at all and her eyes and ears would remain sealed shut for several more days. My mom rest her head on my shoulder as she stroked the baby's tiny foot. She was our miracle baby, and what can be said in the face of a miracle?


	8. Epilogue

We allowed ourselves several days to adjust and enjoy the baby before having anyone over. They passed in a warm blur of nursing and snuggles, napping at odd times and waking every two hours to feed her. Mom was a godsend during this time; she did almost all of the cooking, laundry, and dishwashing. Geoffrey was usually with me and Eva, totally, hopelessly, helplessly in love.

I would've been happy to continue living in this state for months, but our friends were getting impatient. A few people would call everyday, asking how Eva and I were doing and if they could see us yet. We finally gave in. We had everyone who came to the baby shower, only now in our living room. Mom and Geoffrey seated our friends and set out tea and finger food. I wanted five (or fifty) more precious minutes of alone time before I brought her out.

Only Bunnie and Antoine had had children before us, and they sighed the loudest when they saw Eva. I gave her to Bunnie first, the experienced mama of two who would give the others confidence and guidance. Eva wriggled, confused by all the unfamiliar smells. She was so tiny still, dressed in nothing but a plain onesie, tiny lacy socks, and a newborn cap. Even though she was only feet away from me, in the arms of a trusted friend no less, I felt this deep, lonely ache inside, as if my baby's was actually leaps and bounds away from me, out of reach.

Bunnie looked up at me with big, glistening eyes. "She's so beautiful, shugah."

"She really is," Antoine sighed, admiring her over his wife's shoulder. "It's hard to believe she's so new. She's big!"

"She's her father's daughter," I shrugged, with a laugh.

Eva was pretty good as she was passed down the line, mostly scrunching up her face when she encountered a newer, cooler set of hands, or being introduced to a new smell. She adored Antoine, who bounced her expertly and rubbed her tiny bean belly until she sighed. I think even Eva knew that Mina was nervous with her. Eva whimpered, Mina's hands no doubt cold and trembling. But then Mina started singing, and the baby never wanted to leave her arms.

To say that Sonic was apprehensive would be an understatement. "I don't know about this," he told Mina, his hands up, not ready to receive our little hot potato. "I'm not good with babies. I don't wanna hurt her."

This was a good time for my husband to chime in from where he leaned over the back of the couch. "You're not going to hurt her, trust me. Just hold her head and her bottom and keep her close to you." Geoffrey eased the transition from Mina to Sonic with one of his meaty hands, then tucked Eva in to Sonic's chest in the way she preferred. "There you go. See? You're doing great."

Sonic laughed nervously, not taking his eyes off our newborn. "Holy crap. She's a tiny Geoffrey."

"No," my husband chuckled, "She's hardly tiny, and far too well-mannered."

"She's perfect, Stripes. Good for you." Sonic turned to look at his rival of many years, both of their faces softened with love for this tiny life. And they smiled at each other as I'd never seen them do before.

"Thanks, mate. That means a lot, coming from you."

Just as Sonic went to hand her to Sally, Eva started crying. Poor Sally. Her face said it all. "It's not you," I told her, "it's probably either poo or gas or milk. We'll find out!"

I offered her my breast, but she seemed uninterested, so I gave her to her father, who was in charge of burping her. She kept crying, getting redder by the minute, so Geoffrey took her into our room to change her and see if that helped.

"We've been so fascinated by the baby that we haven't asked how you're doing!" Sally confessed, putting her hair up in a quick ponytail.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just in a bit of a haze," I laughed as I took a seat. "I didn't tear or have really any complications. She's not a fussy baby in the least, at least, she hasn't been so far. The only problem is that I struggle terribly to give her up."

Bunnie nodded from her seat. "I felt that way too when Lucien was born. It hurts so much for them to be out of your arms, even for one second. Sometimes I really wanted to put him down, too, just to shower or be alone. But at soon as I put him down, I missed him so badly, it just broke my heart."

"Yeah! I'm so glad you get it! Mom and Geoffrey have both been telling me, you know, 'we wanna hold her, too!' but I can only relax when she's touching me somehow."

"That sounds so intense." Sally and Mina looked a little daunted. Was that expected of them, if they became mothers?

"It is, but there's no saying that everyone's like that, Sally-girl."

"Besides," Antoine said, "it's a very short phase. Newborns are very different from babies, who are very different from toddlers. You're going to have intensely intimate phases and less intimate phases. And it's different even from child to child."

Sally seemed shocked by this, but Bunnie nodded. "Lucien will not go to bed for any reason if his Papa's not home to tuck him in. But put Marc in his arms and the baby does nothing but cry. We've never figured it out."

My baby-deprivation was getting pretty bad at this point, so I was relieved to see Geoffrey reappear with her. He slid her into Sally's arms before she had too much time to fret over it. "She should be much happier now," he told her, as he smiled. "Try to keep her head up a little more."

As Eva continued to make her rounds, my mom often made things easier by holding my hand. "I don't know what I'm going to do when she has to go to school," I told her.

"Don't think about it. She'll go to school whether you worry or not. She's only going to be a baby for a blink of an eye. Enjoy it."

When Sally was done, I gratefully took my daughter back, and brought her to sit with me in the rocking chair. She happily took my breast without me even offering it this time, and conversation continued like a lazy river around us.

"Do you think you'll ever have any children, Sally?" My mother asked gently.

The princess seemed very anxious, repeatedly fixing her ponytail and picking at her fingernails. It was so unlike her. "I don't know. I feel like it's expected of me, but I really don't know if that's what I want."

"And that's ok!" My mom told her, enthusiastically. "Do what you think is best, when and how you think is best. That's the only way you'll be happy." Sally and my mother got along splendidly, possibly better than Sally and I ever did.

Much as people at weddings often leave thinking of weddings, either ones they'd had or whether or not they should ever have one, people often find themselves pensive after holding someone's new baby. Sally was the only one asked, but Sonic and Mina both expressed the desire to have a child or two, and Antoine and Bunnie told us that they planned to have at least one more. My husband and I looked at each other from across the couch. We couldn't even think of having another baby yet. We were far too in love with this one.


End file.
